I tell myself that it’s because it’s been a while since I had sex. I wasn’t fucking Willa and had to play that part publicly. That dashes your availability.
But I’m available now …
“Here’s the thing, though,” she says. “Just saying you don’t want something doesn’t mean you don’t. What you have to do is clarify what it is you want.”
“Your point?”
“I can’t just say I don’t want you,” she says, laying a fingertip on my sternum and ignoring my request to expedite the process. “The desire is still there.”
“Bellamy,” I growl.
I’m trying to have patience and let her finish, but I don’t give a shit how she got here. I just want her to admit she wants me, and then I want to figure out how to get rid of this kid.
She sighs. “But when I’m clear about what I want …” Her lips twist into an amused grin. “It diminishes the desire. It’s freedom.”
I pull away from her to get a better view. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Her eyes fill with fire again. “You might be right when you point out that I’m attracted to you. But when I’m clear about the kind of guy I want to give my time to—it isn’t you.”
She starts to walk away, but I swing her back to face me.
“What just happened here?” I ask her.
“I don’t know. I gave you the truth, and you didn’t like it.”
I eye her curiously. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“What are you talking about?”
The more I think about it, the more I know it’s true.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask her.
“I have a couple of them.”
I glare at her. She shrugs.
“Something has changed with you, and I wanna know what it is.”
“Why? You haven’t cared before.”
I make a face. “What’s that supposed to mean? I always fucking care.”
It’s Bellamy who closes the distance between us this time. It’s Bellamy who pins me with her gaze this round.
“We can get along for the sake of Bree, but don’t lie to me, Coy. Cut the shit. I don’t need you to care. I don’t need you to tell me the things I want to hear so I can survive, okay? Maybe that’s how other women work but not me. I’m going to be just fine without it.”
I hold my hands up. None of this makes sense.
“Right now, I have a little girl who wants to learn how to play the piano,” she says. “You volunteered to help her. So let’s be amicable for that and stop pretending we have unfinished business. Let’s get this over with as quickly as possible.”
“You know what I think will help?”
“What’s that?”
“We need to fight or fuck. Get it out of our system,” I say over Bellamy’s protest.
When I look toward the kitchen, there’s still no sign of Bree. So I lean forward and place my lips near Bellamy’s ear. I’m surprised she doesn’t pull back.
My heart pounds in my chest as I breathe in the scent of her perfume.
“Do you need to be licked, Miss Davenport?” I whisper.
“I got licked last night, Mr. Mason. But thank you for the offer.”
A bolt of jealousy sweeps through me, and I clench my hands at my sides. “Then I guess we fight.”
“What—”
I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder. She squeals as I lock an arm over the back of her thighs to hold her in place.
“Put me down, Coy!”
“What are you doing?” Bree says as she runs toward us.
“Now. I mean it,” Bellamy shrieks.
“We’re going to go upstairs and play the piano,” I tell her, ignoring Bellamy’s demands. “Is there anything you’d like to learn?”
Bree picks up her mitt and workbook. “Something new. My teacher has me learning old stuff but said we could pick something different for the recital. Do you know anything new?”
“Coy Mason, so help me, God …” Bellamy warns.
I tighten my grip on her. “Settle down up there, will ya?” I wink at Bree. “Yes. I know lots of things. Let’s head up to the piano, and we’ll pick something.”
Bree bounces up and down before racing to the stairs. She makes it to the top well before I do.
“Go down the hall and through the door on your right,” I tell her. “I’ll be right there. Get settled at the piano and get your book out,” I say, in hopes that it keeps her busy for a moment.
As I reach the top of the stairs, Bree disappears into the library.
“Coy …” Bellamy groans. “Let me down.”
I stop at the landing and do as instructed, letting her body slink its way down the front of mine. Her eyes are wild as my gaze scoops them up and holds them in place.
She starts to speak, but I place a finger on her lips to quiet her.
“Now, I’m done fucking around with you,” I tell her. “You wanna fuck? Tell me when. You wanna fight? Please. Let’s. Tell me why you’re pissed. But I won’t do this guessing game with you anymore. Got it?”
“Who made you—”
I drop my lips to hers and capture her words with my mouth. She hesitates, sucking in a quick breath before her lips match the intensity of mine. Her hands wrap around my neck and drape over my shoulders. She leans into the kiss that neither of us was expecting.
Music begins to play from the library, so I know Bree is occupied.
I palm the back of her head with my hand and work my mouth against hers. I part her lips slowly, deliciously, with my tongue and kiss her for all it’s worth.
Fire pushes through my veins as my entire body reacts to the proximity of her.
Her lips are soft, her mouth as sweet as I can remember. Her perfume fills my senses. Her body sags against mine, her breasts pushing against the walls of my chest.
Holy fuck.
It’s too much. It’s overwhelming.
I grip her face with my hands. She moans a little against my tongue as I savor the moment—taking my time as quickly as I can. It’s a rush, a push and pull, a hurry but go slow because this might never happen again.
Kissing her is a scratch to an itch that’s been plaguing me. That fucks me up. It feels better to kiss her, to hold her in my arms, than it does to screw someone else.
I don’t know what that means, but I know it has to end.
Finally, as the notes to “Mary Had a Little Lamb” finish, so do I. I pull back and look into a wide set of gorgeous blue eyes.
I grin. “I made me king, if that’s what you were going to ask.”
She stands in front of me and struggles to catch her breath. Her cheeks are pink. Her lips are swollen. And I commit that image to memory.
Then with a casual wink tossed her way, I leave her standing on the top of the stairs.
Let her think about that.
Eight
Bellamy
Music floats through the house, sneaking up behind me and escorting me down the stairs. My brain is frazzled, my heart threatening to pound out of my chest as I hurry into the kitchen and lock myself in the powder room.